


How to Define a Sandwich

by yukiawison



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Les Amis de l'ABC Shenanigans, M/M, here we go yall, sappy nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 16:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukiawison/pseuds/yukiawison
Summary: Marius Pontmercy wouldn't call himself the most well-adjusted college freshman. Courfeyrac spends most of his time making shitty playlists and spilling coffee. Enjolras is having trouble communicating his feelings (again). And Eponine just wants everyone to be clear on what does and doesn't constitute a sandwich.





	How to Define a Sandwich

There was a line. Of course there was a line just when he’d worked up the courage to leave the mountain of books in his room for a coffee break...downstairs. Marius Pontmercy didn’t know he’d chosen the  _ artsy  _ dorm. He’d picked the most centrally located of the three housing options his scholarship provided. Marius didn’t believe in things like fate, but maybe it was. Maybe he was always destined to end up in places where he didn’t belong. Like in edgy, student-run coffee shops that were only open at night and had free refills for the weary eyed college kids who lived upstairs.

Marius had spent most of Welcome Week hiding from friendly but intimidating people down the hall and across the hall and in the room beside him (so, everyone.) He’d spent the first four weeks of classes taking aggressively detailed lecture notes in his  _ panic  _ handwriting and pretending to be better adjusted than he was when he Skyped Cosette. He hadn’t made any friends. He’d aced all his first exams but his insomnia was getting bad and sometimes he went full days without talking to anyone. So far college was quiet. 

The Musain wasn’t quiet. The line stretched out the door and buzzed with laughter and conversation. He took a place at the back awkwardly and juggled the coffee mug in his hands. He’d been told he would get a discount if he brought his own.

“Look, I see where you’re coming from, but if you turn a hot dog on its side how is it different from any other meat sandwich? You have a top and bottom piece of bread with a filling. Those are the basic components of a sandwich.”

The girl in line in front of him shook her head aggressively, mussing the already messy bangs that covered most of her forehead. The line inched forward and the guy making the hot dog argument punctuated his sentence with a wave of his mug. It had a science olympiad logo on it.

“Holy shit Ferre, it is in no way that simple. A hot dog bun is one piece of bread--connected, unified, you get where I’m going here right? A sandwich has a distinct top and bottom layer and…”

“Layer, Eponine why are you…?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to include a hot dog but  _ exclude  _ an ice cream sandwich because it doesn’t have bread? You need to open your mind a little, pal.”

“Don’t passive aggressively pal me, just because it has sandwich in the name doesn’t mean it’s intrinsically a sandwich,” The guy said calmly, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “What does Enjolras always say? We must question the powers that be. I’m not going to change my definition of a sandwich because the  _ man  _ tells me something.”

“Don’t give me that shit in the same breath as your hot dog argument. You probably put dijon mustard on your bougie ass hot dog sandwich,” she shot back, but she was grinning. “What do you think?”

Marius blinked. She had turned to look at him and was waiting expectantly, eyes more intense with winged liner and a brilliant red eyeshadow. 

“Me?” He said dumbly, regretting every step down the stairs from the fourth floor it took to get to the end of this line.

“Yeah, you. Where do you draw the proverbial sandwich line?”

“Don’t feel compelled to take her side just because she’s confrontational,” the guy cut in.

“I...uh, haven’t given it much thought,” Marius spluttered, feeling his face go pink.

The girl’s gaze softened and her dark brows furrowed together. “Understandable, understandable. We won’t interrogate you.”

“But we would appreciate your thoughts once you’ve gathered them,” the guy said good naturedly. “I’m Combeferre.” He stuck out his hand and Marius tried not to be self-conscious about his sweaty palms when he took it.

“Marius,” Marius replied.

“I’m Eponine and I greet with fist bumps not handshakes.” She extended a fist and Marius cautiously returned a fist bump. 

The line inched forward again and now Marius was in the doorway. A gentle hum of something indie with soft vocals mixed with the muddled conversation, loud screeching of the machine that steamed the milk, and the enthusiastic greetings of the dark haired barista who was...distracting. The nervousness that had thus far kept Marius’ hands clenched so tightly on his coffee mug that he thought he might break it now made his shoulders tighten and teeth bite the inside of his mouth.

“Oh shit!” Eponine leaned out from behind Marius and grinned. “Courf’s working. I forgot!”

The barista, Courf evidently, looked up when he heard his name and for a second after he waved to Eponine made eye contact with Marius, just a quick, friendly sort of glance like maybe he thought Marius and Eponine were friends, making them mutual friends (which made Marius worry that he was somehow lying to this beautiful stranger who was now stirring a hot chocolate at a harried pace, making conversation as he went and reaching over to open the fridge door and grab whipped cream.)

“That’s our friend Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said, because apparently he’d been adopted by the fascinating sandwich arguers after five minutes in line. He felt lightheaded and like he should’ve just stayed in his room and tried to Skype Cosette again but also like he was on the precipice of something important and since this was the only social interaction he’d likely have all week (it was Thursday) he nodded, and repeated the name.

“Courfeyrac,” Marius Pontmercy said. And then they were at the front of the line.

“Dude, you owe me a playlist,” Eponine said, thrusting her coffee mug across the counter. “The usual.”

“I know, I know,” the barista said, snatching up the mug and tossing it between his hands. He looked even more animated up close and fumbled around the extensive collection of syrups along the back wall of the cafe as he spoke. “I’m almost done and then I’ll send it your way. To be fair, ‘Songs to Annoy My Shithead Parents that Won’t Corrupt Gav More than He Already has been’ is a challenging and specific request Ep. Also, vegan chai?

“Eponine is an occasional vegan,” Combeferre said, clarifying once more for Marius’ benefit. He nodded and the barista’s attention turned to him.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, grinning. He slicked some hair out of his face and extended a hand across the counter, which Marius took after painfully detaching his hand from its death grip around the mug. “Courfeyrac.”

“Marius.”

“We met Marius five minutes ago. Riddle me this: is a hot dog a sandwich if you turn it sideways?

“Absolutely not,” Courfeyrac said without missing a beat.

“Thank you! Finally someone I can trust.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marius. Do you know what you’d like?”

_ Your friendship, immediately,  _ Marius thought but didn’t say. “Um...what I’d...I don’t know. He looked desperately to the menu board but it was too long and he was acutely aware that he was being watched and suddenly the question seemed much too big to answer. 

“May I interest you in something from the specials selection?” Courfeyrac asked, gesturing to the messy handwriting on the chalkboard to his right. Marius blinked at it:

Songs that would be greatly improved by a banjo solo

(a specials board by Couf)

Wonderwall by Oasis

Earl grey tea with steamed milk - $1.50

All Star by Smash Mouth

Random soda, random shot - $0.75

Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler

Hot chocolate with tiramisu syrup - $2.00

Baby by Justin Bieber

Vanilla milkshake with cheesecake syrup - $2.50

In the Hall of the Mountain King by Grieg

Affogato with caramel - $2.25

“I’m a firm believer that  _ everything  _ is improved by the banjo,” Courfeyrac said seriously.

“Um...Wonderwall then please.” Marius said.

“For here or to go?”

Eponine laughed. “He brought his mug Courf, you don’t need to ask.”

Marius glanced at the stack of paper to go cups and stiffened. He had planned to retreat discreetly to his room, coffee mug be damned.

“Maybe I’m just curious as to whether or not I’ll be enjoying Marius’ company any longer.”

“Touche,” Eponine said, leaning her elbows on the counter and accepting the latte Courfeyrac had finished. “You can sit with us if you want Marius,” she finished.

“Unless he has to go,” Combeferre put in helpfully.

They looked at him and Marius looked at them. He looked at the witty, significantly cooler than him people who’d offered him more friendly energy in the past 5 minutes than anyone else on campus had all semester. He looked at the languid line of talking, laughing, casually happy people behind them. He looked at the ridiculous specials board and multicolored string lights on the deep purple walls and nodded vigorously.

“For here, here would be great.”

***

The thing about college was that there was too much to do. Courfeyrac had only been campus a month and he already had a endless laundry list of things to accomplish. He’d swiped an application from the Musain the second time he’d come in, and they were desperate enough to hire an overly enthusiastic freshman for his first semester. There were a few weeks of spilling drinks and stumbling over orders. There were a few weeks where he wasn’t completely comfortable in his skin, where his smile felt too stiff and his classes felt too long. But then he figured it out. He learned how to make lattes without burning himself or dropping things. He joined the ultimate frisbee team. He joined Enjolras’ club again. 

“Who’s that?” Enjolras asked, putting his mug on the counter for a refill. He looked tired. He was wearing his all nighter headband and spare glasses.“With Combeferre and Eponine,” he clarified, when Courf just stared at him.

“That’s Marius, they’ve adopted him. Are you okay? You look kind of…”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Kind of what, Courf?”

“Exhausted. The semester just started, how do you already look like that?”

“Well aren’t you supportive?” Enjolras scowled at him before taking a sip of his refilled black coffee. At least it wasn’t an espresso kind of night. “I’m finishing up my project about my summer service learning. We give our presentations next week. It wouldn’t be a lot if I wasn’t already taking too many credit hours and working on ABC stuff.”

“Stuff?” Courf replied, eyebrow quirking up. Enjolras was typically more verbose about the goings on of the ABC, often excessively so.

“The anti-rape culture rally, the fundraiser for the ACLU, Eponine’s crisis hotline volunteer group, your very important suggestion that we partner with the campus environmental club on their greener campus initiative. It’s a lot of stuff, Courf, and I want to be done with the summer so I can properly devote my time to all of the fall’s  _ stuff _ .”

“Right,” Courfeyrac said slowly. Enjolras had spent the summer in Cape Town working with a human rights advocacy organization to promote health education and citizen empowerment. He’d been gone for 2 months, which would’ve been fine if he’d straightened everything out at home before he left. But he was Enjolras, so he hadn’t. “Have you seen R today?”

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “I haven’t seen him since the meeting. He doesn’t hang around the Musain as much now that he has a boyfriend.”

Courf frowned. He thought Grantaire’s absences during his shifts had more to do with Enjolras’ lurking by the counter or in his  _ no nonsense study corner _ than R’s boyfriend of 3 weeks now. They didn’t talk much about what happened the week before Enjolras left for South Africa. The short version, Jehan had informed him, was that Enjolras and R had kissed at their Medieval poetry themed end of the year party. (Jehan was still salty that the majority of their invitees hadn’t respected the theme.) Courf hadn’t been told who kissed who (there were varying accounts), how much alcohol was involved (given Grantaire as a person and Jehan’s party menu), or what conversation (if any) followed, but Enjolras didn’t call or send R any postcards over the summer, and when school started up they didn’t talk about it and R showed up to the first amis meeting with Pierre, the new boyfriend.

It was a little jarring, given how long R had been interested in Enjolras and only Enjolras, and the look on Enjolras’ face when R introduced him. (Bossuet had compared this look to Joly’s when Bossuet had shown him the t-shirt he’d salvaged after he’d dropped it, sopping wet from the washer, behind the dorm laundry machines and forgotten about until the next time he did his laundry and fished it out with a yardstick.)

“Don’t stay up too late, alright? Knowing you, your presentation’s going to go just fine,” Courfeyrac said, glancing down at his watch. It was 11:30; he had a half an hour before closing.

“You’re the freshman, I should be the one lecturing you,” Enjolras said, but he was smiling, just a little, in the way that wasn’t fake. He retreated back to his table with his half empty coffee cup.

Courfeyrac had known Enjolras, Combeferre, R, and Eponine since middle school. He was a year behind them, but they were united by Enjolras’ social justice and advocacy club The Friends of the ABC. Enjolras had taken the amis with him to college, quickly establishing himself as the leader of the university’s most active, if not largest, advocacy organization. 

He loved the friends he’d made through the ABC and he loved that at college they were tackling bigger issues and rallying more people. People, perhaps, like Combeferre and Eponine’s adoptee. Courfeyrac turned his attention to the skittish looking Marius who was seated between his friends. 

“What’s your major?” Eponine asked him, as Marius sipped his tea nervously.

“History,” he replied. “I’m...um, I’m interested in attending law school.”

“No kidding, you should meet our friend Bahorel. He’s on his way to law school too,” Combeferre said.

“If he doesn’t drop kick a political science professor first,” Eponine laughed. 

Marius smiled. “And what about you two?” he asked. “Your majors, I mean.”

“Biology,” Combeferre said. “I want to be a doctor.” Ferre adjusted his glasses in the way that made him look studious and quick-witted, a move he’d perfected years ago. He had disclosed to Couf at a high school football game that it was his signature technique when trying to make a good impression (although back then he was trying to use it on the JV kicker, who he had a crush on.)

“And I’m in social work,” Eponine said.

“Really?” Marius brightened. “So is my friend Cosette. She doesn’t go here though. She’s at a small college three hours from here.”

“You two must be very close,” Eponine replied, and Marius looked momentarily panicked.

“What gave you that impression?”

Eponine leaned in closer. “You didn’t say the school or the town, just how long it would take to get there. And I’m good at listening.”

“Oh,” Marius said, he was turning a rosy shade of pink that made his freckles stand out further. “I mean, you’re right, I miss her quite a bit.”

“Did you say she was your girlfriend?” Courfeyrac blurted from the counter. He nearly dropped the mug he was drying as the three of them turned to look at him.  _ Great, perfect, now he thinks you’re an eavesdropping creep _ .

“No, she’s just my friend,” Marius said, meeting his eyes for a moment. 

In a lot of ways college was the way Courfeyrac had expected it to be. He’d been to a couple of parties in Bahorel’s basement where the lights were dim and every drink he was handed had too much vodka. He’d swayed, light-headed and distant as his friends and their friends danced and talked and laughed in high, joyous outbursts. But sometimes college felt like sensory overload. Sometimes he needed to catch his breath outside before the party swallowed him whole. Sometimes he showed up to class a minute too late and the whole lecture hall stared at him like he didn’t belong. Sometimes he just went through the motions. 

“Well, we’ve gotta take off now, don’t we Ferre?” Eponine said suddenly and Combeferre gave her a confused head tilt. “Laundry, remember?” She pressed. 

“Right, laundry,” he repeated. 

“Oh,” Marius began. His hands were fumbling around his mug. “I guess I’ll go too, then.”

“Don’t leave. Go sit at the bar and keep Courf company,” she said, shooting Courfeyrac a sly look. 

Marius said okay. 

“Do you pick the music?” Marius asked as he slid gingerly into the seat closest to the cash register. 

“Yep,” he replied, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counter. It was a strange mix of 80s pop, indie songs with strange lyrics and unorthodox beats, and a few tracks from Ep’s punk phase that she rolled her eyes at whenever she heard now. His music taste could be off-puttingly eclectic. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” he replied, head bobbing up and down with vigor. His messy hair flopped dizzyingly and adorably. 

“What kind of music do you listen to?” He asked, and Marius flushed again. 

“Whatever’s on the radio, I guess. I don’t know a lot of cool music.”

“Cool music,” Courf repeated, setting down his dish towel. “If you like it then it’s cool.” He leaned his elbows on the bar beside Marius. 

Marius laughed. “Okay, I guess.”

“I’ll make you a playlist.”

“Aren’t you already making Eponine one?”

“New potential friends have priority access,” Courf said, and then kicked himself for being too honest. 

“Okay then,” Marius said. “How do you pick the songs?

“Sometimes a song just feels right for a particular moment, I guess.” If he had to pick a song for Marius in the current moment he’d go with something sappy and too much given they’d only met a couple of hours ago. Something like REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight This Feeling.”

Marius nodded as if Courf was a music expert. “Well, thank you in advance.”

They couldn’t talk much more because of the steady stream of customers. Marius stayed until closing, into the point of the night where Courfeyrac’s Spotify playlist reached its more questionable songs. Marius had a book out and was reading, his long lashes making shadows on his freckled cheeks. The Musain ran out of Fresca and sugar cookies and Courf had to defend his specials board before a couple of banjo haters. Marius looked up at him every so often, vague smile on his lips whenever Courf was trying to be charming or entertaining with customers to distract from his only moderately skilled barista-ing. At midnight Courfeyrac turned off the music and Marius looked up a final time. 

“Closing time,” Courf said. 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was the only one still here,” Marius said. He jumped up too quickly and nearly knocked over his chair.

“It’s okay,” Courf said. “It’s nice not to be alone,” he laughed and Marius’ face fell. 

“Yeah,” he said, dejectedly. “It really is.”

_ Shit, what did I say? _

“You’ll come back though, and hang out? If you want to,” he added. 

Marius looked surprised. “I didn’t bug you? I know I don’t talk a lot,” he muttered. 

“You don’t need to talk a lot if you don’t want to,” Courf said. 

Marius looked down at his tennis shoes. “Okay,” he said. 

“My shifts are every Thursday. You should come back, man.” He said, trying to sound casual. “You can see more of my amazing specials boards.”

Marius nodded. “Alright,” he said. “It was a really good board.”

He said it so sincerely that for a second Courfeyrac felt entirely present and at home in the moment. He wanted more moments like this. 


End file.
